Spin, Spin, Spin

I've taken up spinning. 

It takes a village of sporty gals to get the SJG ready for spinning. There are things in life I need help with, and I'm not ashamed to ask for it, in no uncertain terms: 

"How the eff do I get my shoes strapped into these @#$%'n pedals?" 

"Can someone help me adjust this @#$%'n seat?"

"What if I don't want to climb the @#$%'n hill?" 

"Can someone call the paramedics?"

"If I plotz, will someone contact my family?"

The Hidden Advantage

An early morning conversation with the eldest:
"Guess what day it is today?"
"What day is it, Mother?"
"It's our special day, honey. A day devoted just to us."
"Is it Fart Day?"
"God forbid."
"Give me a hint."
"What am I doing right now?"
"Waving a pen at me."
"Which means?"
"It's Pen Day?"
"Uh, no."
"Wrist Day?"
"Oh, for @##%'s sake!"
"Just tell me. I have to leave for work."
"Okay. Here's a big clue."
"It's... Hand Day."
"Could you be more specific?"
"Left hand? Is it... Left-Hander's Day?"
"Two hours later, yes."
"That is exciting. See you tonight."
"Hang on. I'm not done with my blog."
"You have to blog about this?"
"You have to ask?"
"One more question then I'm going."
"Fine. How has being left-handed affected your life?"
"It hasn't. Bye."
"Wait. Not even a little?"
"Not day to day. Except scissors. Scissors are the enemy."
"So true."
"I'm leaving."
"Hang on, you. Give me a plus about being a lefty and I'll let you go."
"It's given me an advantage in sports."
"I love that. How?"
"People don't expect you to be left-handed in basketball. You can pretend you're a righty and go right then switch to your left and fake them out."
"I think I'll try that today at Gelson's with my cart."
"You'll cause a scene."
"Always the goal."

Gigglers Anonymous

A short Jewish gal walks down the street, giggling, uncontrollably.
A police officer stops her. "Excuse me, ma'am. I could use a good laugh. What's so funny?"
"Absolutely nothing," she says.
"Then why are you giggling like an unhinged hyena?"
"It's better than the alternative."

Look It Up

Long before info was a keystroke away, in those ancient pre-Internet days when the SJG was a shy school girl, I had to find answers the hard way. I had to look it up in a book. Imagine the hardship. Open a heavy tome with my tiny delicate hands? Even then, there must've been a better research tool. And there was. I liked to consult the walking encyclopedia known as Daddy. Geography, history or God forbid, math, he'd have the answer. But get a load of this, people. He expected me to find the answer on my own. Or at least try. Trying was big with him. "Look it up, Lita," he'd say. Lita was short for Carolita, as in "little Carol." I know. So cute I could weep right now. But I'm trying to stay strong for the blog. So. What was this "look it up" thing about? Was he trying to drive me insane? No. He didn't want me to take the easy way out or give up on myself, which was my inclination, especially when it was tough. He believed, wholeheartedly, that I was capable of solving the problem on my own. Sometimes his strategy worked. I'd trudge back to my room, resentfully, and figure it out on my own. The moment was kvell-worthy, I admit, and "character building." Other times, the exercise became futile. It backfired. He blamed my stubbornness. I blamed the movie star governor of California (what, you think Arnold Schwarzenegger was the first?) for ruining the educational system.There were tears. Door slamming. More tears. Man, I really hated when my daddy cried. But I got the message. I kept looking it up. Sometimes I found the answer. Sometimes I came up blank. Either way, I learned something. 

What's That Sound?

Could it be the early morning geshrey of the blue birdy, screeching its wakeup call?

Or could it be the rip, rip, rip of the sticky blue tape, tearing off the roll, telling us Nacho has arrived, better late than never, to finish the paint job hubby couldn't stop himself from starting?

You Think You've Got Problems?

On Saturday, the paintner didn't show. What's that? Why do we, and by "we," I mean Jews of a certain generation, refer to those who inhale fumes for a living as "paintners"? Because our parents did. Lame answer? How dare you. You can be so insensitive at times. The one expert elderly Jew I could've consulted on the matter has left the paint store. So I'm taking an educated guess. Let's just say that newly-arrived Jews in America like my Russian grandparents who struggled, linguistically and otherwise, added an extra "n" and somehow it caught on. Anyway, back to my Update from Kvetch Central. It's been a trying few weeks, as I may have mentioned, what with the bamboo and the chronic noise, the re-piping and the city inspection that earned an F (twice), the Singing Dry Wallers who serenaded me for two days with Oldies - actually, their version of "Help Me, Rhonda" wasn't half-bad - and now, the phone call from Nacho, owner and executive paintner of Nacho's Paint-For-Less: "Mrs. Carol? I can't come this weekend." "Why not?" "I'm working." "Here. You're working here." "No, Mrs. Carol. I come on Monday." "Today, Nacho. Today." "I see you Monday, Mrs. Carol." "Don't do this to me, Nacho. Nacho?! Nacho?!"

Five Bad Ideas In Dog Training

Why can't Dusty do this?

1.  Laundry Maintenance. Trying to teach Dusty to fold his own laundry = epic fail. How many times must I say, "The underwear goes on your tush, not your head, silly."
2.  Toilet Training. Thirteen years. Thirteen years I've been working on this with him. I've finally come to the conclusion that he prefers the backyard.
3.  Home Improvement. I give him a  brush and a bucket of paint. I point to the wall. I command him to paint it. The work is sub-par. What was the point of sending him to Paris to study painting?

Dusty can't do this, either.

4.  Cooking. Not very agile with the egg beater, the spatula or Cuisinart. Can't boil water to save his life. Very good at licking the bowl and stealing the oven mitts.
5.  Household Chores. Vacuuming. I plug in the Dyson. I point to the piles of dog hair he's left all over the house. I say, "Get busy, Mister." I wait. Nothing. What am I doing wrong?

Maybe if I buy him an apron.